Thursday, 20 September 2007

I hate Martin Amis more than anyone else in the entire world. Here's why.

He's just such a retard! Everything he's ever written and everything he's ever done and everything about him just totally sucks. He also posed for the cover of his book of 'essays' (I use the term tentatively, because to qualify as an essay, a piece of writing generally can't be written in excrement), The War Against Cliche, trying to look like Ewan MacGregor in the Trainspotting poster. What an ass.

I'm not alone in my loathing of Martin Amis. Here's a few quotes from a Guardian article a few months ago: "If the media refer to Martin Amis as 'Britain's greatest living author' once more," wrote Kathy Love from south London, "I shall kill myself. The fact that such a misconception exists at all is enough to make most people with a passion for books want to emigrate to Uruguay immediately. Please save my life and don't do it again."

She follows: "I have never enjoyed a Martin Amis book. Most of them I have flung across the room unfinished. I hate his self-conscious literary style, his pathetic posturing. More importantly, he has nothing to say. Greatness in a writer can only be awarded posthumously. Let them snuff it first, I say. Then we'll decide."

Well said, Kathy from South London.

I would now like to share some extracts from Martin Amis' novels, and let you be the judge.

from The Rachel Papers, Vintage, 1973, 240 pages.

"Rachel was filing some papers. 'Oh my goodness!' said Rachel, 'it's nearly three-of-the-clock and I shall never finish filing my papers!' Then, Charles Highway entered the room, placing his fists on his hips like a bird drinking water. 'My name is Charles and I am the narrator. I enjoy metaphors, but am not sure how to use them.'
'Hello,' said Rachel, 'my name is Rachel and these are my papers.'
'Well,' roared Charles, 'GET BACK TO WORK BITCH!!!!'
'Oh goodness!' replied Rachel, who was of the weaker sex, 'that loud outburst shall have Julie Burchill, amongst many others, accusing you of misogyny, while at the same time increasing your sales among immature Oxford undergraduates who have never seen boobs.'
'Meh, whaddya gonna do.' There is a pause, pregnant, as if with puppies. The puppies represent drama. 'Wait... isn't this whole book meant to be in first person? That's what it says on Amazon.'
'Yes, how strange. It's almost as if the author of this blog post has never read this book, nor ever will...'"

from Yellow Dog, Vintage, 2003, 352 pages.

"There once was this dog. Then some paint fell on teh dg and it got all yelo. Teh End. By Martin Amis."
(This is followed by 351 pages, mostly blank, some with photographs of him carrying sacks of money to the bank, others with pencil sketches by the author of his own genitals)

Incidentally, while I haven't read The Rachel Papers I can hands down say that Yellow Dog is the worst book I've ever read, and that's quite an admission, seeing as I pretty much covered the entire Goosebumps canon by R.L. Stine in my childhood. I've also giggled my way through writing this entire post. As Charlie Brooker recently wrote: 'sweary tastelessness is a celebration of life, as soaring and majestic as a gospel choir in full flow, and no amount of tedious squeamishness can alter that.'


Anonymous said...

I came across your blog whilst searching for a Martin Amis hate site to join. Thank you for your post - it pleased me no end.

God, I hate Martin Amis.

John T said...

this is nonsense.

Anonymous said...

you try to back up your argument against Martin Amis by making up quotes? Doesn't that make you seem a bit foolish?

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Hi i hate is dude too is a fool i really dislike him he do so many weird thinks i dont like him at all ,

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